The Immovable Man
by LeLa London
Summary: Can you feel this Brooke, as much as I do? Your heart pounding and leaving you gasping for breath where a beautiful future together lies ahead of us in each other's arms. Come on. Somewhere inside you want to be with me.


"_[…] How can I move on? _

_When I'm still in love with you […]" _

_(The Script- The Man Who Can't Be Moved)_

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_Dedicated to koumi11_

**The Immovable Man**

She filled my vision, and I swear the world really did disappear. After being a part for what seemed to be ages, my longing and ache increased ten fold. She was the one and only Brooke Davis, who took my breath away all over again. But I'm not surprised; she keeps me on my toes. She's the brightest soul that I've come across in my life. If given the choice, I wouldn't let go no matter what.

It's strange to wrap my mind on feeling the undercurrents of awkwardness in our strained conversation. Things are still entirely unresolved. I wanted to say 'with us,' but that term feels exclusive and I don't know what 'we' are. I just know that we used to date. Have the two of us been merely reduced to exes? Funny, how in the end I had to come back to the word 'us.' This line of thinking makes me gloomy. There isn't an 'us' anymore.

I felt like freely saying, 'I know you, Brooke. I still do. I want to be with you. I'm still completely in love with you. Are we really over?' but I didn't. She doesn't return my love. She didn't say, 'I love you' then, and she didn't go with me to LA when there was an opportunity.

So when I was invited to Lucas and Peyton's wedding, I brought Missy. She was the nearest one I've got to the real thing, but seeing _her,_ compelled me to do irrational, insane, romantic gestures, and the typical green-eyed monster of jealousy reared its ugly head. I couldn't resist poking fun of Nick Lachey, his boy band days in 98 degrees. I mean come on, boy bands? Grudgingly, I'll admit I did deserve the left punch to the face.

But when I saw the French lip-lock she had on him, I wanted to explode. I just had to get out of there. I couldn't stomach the scene any longer. I was thinking of her to the point of mistakenly calling Missy, 'Brooke' which was a bad move on hind sight. I didn't care too much about the situation because I cared a great deal about someone else.

Deciding to come back and see if Nick was still around Brooke, I walked back inside. I was relieved to find her sitting on a chair, deep in thought so I posed the question of asking her for a dance or for her to tell me she loved me.

Of course she picked the dance. She's regularly terrified of the idea of opening her heart to another. Despite this knowledge, I couldn't help but hope she would have said she loved me instead. Disappointment lasted for a second before I tried to get through to her again. Undaunted, I grabbed her soft manicured hand, and we stepped through the dance floor.

We stood extremely close. One of my hands rested on her tiny waist, the other intertwined with her fingers, balanced agreeably with my rough ones. Somewhere within, I experienced this snapshot wash of contentment. For one moment, I had faith that she felt at home too, that I was her home. It's underneath the thousands of layers she resides, below the powerful influences of fear and doubt. I'm naturally enjoying her company. 'Don't run,' I said mentally, breathing in her unique, floral scent.

Then she abruptly pulls away, breaking our clasped limbs. The look in her hazel eyes telling me more than she's ever spoken. I'm reading her easily, yet confusion practically takes control. I don't fully understand why she's not speaking the words that I've been fighting for: 'I've been fighting for you, your heart in all its difficult paths to embark on. Proclaiming the words is honestly a confession of sincerely held feelings. Are you ever going to do that?' I pondered as I witness her hasty departure. I'm her fool that's going to wait for her because I think she's worth it.

_A/N: __Going back to the basics, as in simple dialogue/thoughts people really have, and maybe, maybe occasionally phrasing it differently/switching to better synonyms._

_*Title from The Script  
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_*Last line reminded me of Chloe's poem line to Clark (Smallville). _

_*Paragraph 9- second sentence I referenced the line from Hilary Duff's Now You Know. _

_**Last, I'm pretty proud of this one. It's the first prose I've done that's longer than 300 words, and that was five years ago. **_


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